


All those years

by IndigoDream



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: BAMF Maryse Lightwood, Character Study, F/M, Introspection, Maryse Trueblood rather than Lightwood, Maryse-centric, also she has a war axe so, maryse is a badass, thinking back to the past, this follows the show's canon, trying to be better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Many dared to oppose a shadowhunter with a seraph blade in hands, but they all gave a stop when she brandished her axe.It is, after all, an imposing weapon. Double edged, about eighty centimeters long, the iron of the blades laced with adamas, and the handle featuring the angelic rune, it is a sight to behold. Were she inclined to poetry, she would say it is perfection made into a weapon.----------------------Maryse reflects on her life as she trains with her specialty weapon.





	All those years

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 100% due to a convo I had with @enkelimagnus, in which we discussed badass Maryse Lightwood having a war axe as her main weapon. Also this has a healthy dose of Luke/Maryse because I'm soft for them and they are soft for each other. 
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you like it!

Although it’s been months, maybe even years, since it was properly used, the double edged axe swings through the air with perfect precision and lands with a loud thunk in the center of the target. Maryse wipes her brow with a sigh of relief. Walking forward, she grabs the handle of it and pulls, her muscles straining as she takes back her weapon. 

She is infinitely grateful that Alec retrieved it for her from Alicante’s armory. It may not be a family heirloom, but it’s hers, has been hers for years, since she was fifteen and chose it when the occasion had arisen. She remembers the laughs at that, the mockery that came from the boys at the Academy. She can hear clear as ever the voice of a boy telling her she was too weak to wield such a mighty weapon, and though she doesn’t remember his name, she takes a great pride in knowing she proved him wrong. 

She places herself back in the middle of the training room, knowing that she won’t be disturbed for a longer while. Even if she has been de-runed, angelic blood still curses through her veins, and the blades of the weapon have a light blue shine when she twirls it between her hands. The feeling is so familiar but has been so missed, especially in the last few months, while she had to adapt to life as a mundane. 

She loves her store, has found a purpose in it she did not know she could find in something else than hunting demons and protecting the world from demonic havoc. But despite how much she loves it, the hunt is in her blood, the feel of a weapon is more natural to her than anything else in the world. Standing here, in the training room of the New York Institute, an Institute she had once ruled with an iron hand, feels like coming home, especially now that she has her axe again with her. 

She starts moving, attacking enemies that are not there, but would die instantly from the blow if they were. The weapon is an extension of herself, a part so integral she finds herself breathing more easily now that she has found her rhythm with it again. The idea of giving it a name has been turning over in her head ever since she read about mundanes naming legendary weapons. She supposes shadowhunters have the same tradition, but she had never considered naming her blade before that. 

Now, she reasons with herself as the blade whips through the air smoothly, it would be simply a name she would give it. Something simply, purely for herself. A blade named by and for Maryse Trueblood, mother of four, de-runed shadowhunter, former Head of the New York Institute. A blade that carried years of blood, both guilty and innocent, mountains of shame and pride; her own life story in her hands. 

She cuts an impressive figure against the slowly darkening room, hoisting and twirling the weapon with deadly agility and the grace of an angel. She never needed runes to take care of herself. She had been the best fighter at the Academy when she was young, long before she chose her axe. In her hands, a Seraph blade had been as much a weapon as a beautiful accessory that enhanced her tall and somber features. But it’s with the axe that she really found herself. 

Entire days and nights had been spent training with it, building the muscles she would need for the perfect accuracy, the perfect strength, the total control over the weapon. She had wanted to be the deadliest of all, the most skilled of all; she had wanted to be the best. She had fallen short of that once she had met Valentine Morgenstern. 

Maryse isn’t too proud to admit that she had made many mistakes through her life, but falling for Valentine’s lies and using her training to follow his every order and command, that one could almost be the worst one. The Circle had been her own way of rebelling against the system she had felt was failing at the sacred mission the angels had bestowed upon the shadowhunters. She regrets it bitterly now, hates herself a little for it. There are nights she cannot sleep, nights when the dead haunts her. Before, when she had been the Head of the Institute, when nothing had mattered, she would push those thoughts away by spending nights in her office working, pouring her worries and insecurities onto the paperwork. She would push her children to do better, to be the best, without ever telling them why. 

Her heart beats rapidly as she throws the axe again in the middle of the target, only missing the center by a few millimeters. Shame builds up inside her again as she focuses on her greatest mistake. She will never forgive herself for the way she treated her children while they were growing up. She had been too hard on them, too much of the Head of the Institute instead of their mother, the one person who was supposed to always have their back and always be there for them. At the time, she had been so certain that it was the only way she could ready them for the world and for their destiny. Now, she knows that she just made them believe she didn’t love them. 

She can see it in the way Alec will look at her when he comes over for dinner once a month, when it’s late and Magnus and Luke are laughing over some shared joke. His beautiful eyes, the eyes he inherited from her family she reminds herself with pride, are filled with a quiet fear, one she can see him fighting in his heart with every passing minutes. Whenever she catches that look, she reaches out to him and takes his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

She can see it in the way Isabelle always straighten up when she sees her, an instinctive reaction that she doesn’t control. She stays tense for a few seconds before her shoulders relax as she sees her mother smile. All the hugs Maryse had denied her children, and herself, she allows them now. She takes her daughter, so smart and so beautiful, in her arms, and thank the angel that she was gifted with such a family. 

Life hasn’t always been kind to her, and she has many scars to prove that, but she has deserved each and every single scars. If she could erase her wrongdoings against her children, each and every one of them, by getting more of those, she would. She doesn’t even have to consider it for more than a heartbeat to know that it is the truth she lives by now. 

Retrieving the blade from the target once again, she twirls it in her arms and wonders what name she will give it. She has never been one to ponder on decisions for hours; if she wants to do something, she will do it efficiently. The handle of the axe is firm under her hands, her hold perfect on it. 

Having it back with her feels like finding the last missing piece of her new life. She knows she will never be a shadowhunter again, she isn’t deluded to the point of believing she could become one again by simply having her weapon. But she still has the Sight, she still has children that fight literal demons every day. She still has a boyfriend who recently reintegrated the New York Institute. If she can’t protect the ones she love and herself, her life has no purpose anymore. 

She ponders on names as she keeps attacking imaginary enemies. She could name it something frightening, something that would give pause to anyone attacking her; something like _Demon Slayer_ or _Heart Piercer_. Even to herself it sounds ridiculous. It would do the weapon and herself a disservice. This weapon is as much herself as her arm or her brain. Her runes were an important part of herself when she still had them, but her axe, loyal and trustworthy, that had been the one thing she relied the most in battle. Many dared to oppose a shadowhunter with a seraph blade in hands, but they all gave a stop when she brandished her axe.

It is, after all, an imposing weapon. Double edged, about eighty centimeters long, the iron of the blades laced with adamas, and the handle featuring the angelic rune, it is a sight to behold. Were she inclined to poetry, she would say it is perfection made into a weapon. 

Her arms are already sore from the short twenty minutes of practice. It has been too long. She won’t stop now though; she is determined to keep going for at least ten more minutes. 

She is still going through drills when she hears a sharp inhale, and she spins with all the ferocity she can muster, ready to frighten away the poor soul that dared to interrupt her. 

She stops in her tracks when she sees Lucian in the entryway, a fond look on his face. He was supposed to be on patrol, he wasn’t supposed to see her like this. She hates that there is some embarrassment that rises in her chest as she drops her axe to her side carefully. 

When she had married Robert, she had done it mostly for the family name and the opportunity he gave her. She had fancied him a bit, and she had learned to love him, in some way, and she was glad that she had been with him, if only for the four amazing children they had. He had never been comfortable with her strength, her unabashed appreciation of fighting, her brashness. She had changed for him. Had mostly given up her axe, only using it on patrols they didn’t take together, and she had devoted herself to ruling the Institute, rather than going to fight the demons in the streets like her heart screamed to her. 

So to see the undivided attention Luke is giving to her, the unashamed appreciation of her mastery of the weapon, clear as day in his eyes, it’s a bit too much for her. She isn’t used to that and she doesn’t know what to do with it. She is rediscovering everything with Luke. It’s strange, but good. Being with him is also one of the thing she thanks the angel on the regular for. 

“I had forgotten how good you were with that axe,” he says, and his voice carries all the appreciation she could read in his eyes. 

She smiles, her cheeks tainted with red. She still isn’t used to his open affection, to the warmth in his voice when he talks to her. She has never doubted, not once, any of the compliments he has given her; she can tell they are heartfelt. What she always doubts is whether she is deserving of those nice things. 

“Weren’t you out in a patrol,” she asks instead, walking forward and putting the axe back on the table next to him. 

He reaches for her and kisses her softly, almost adoringly, and the smile they both share has a tenderness she never felt before him. She supposes it’s true, what they say: Nephilim only love once. Alec found it with Magnus, Isabelle with Simon, and Jace had it with Clary, before she lost her memory. It’s her turn now, to find a love so deep she wants to take on the world to protect it. 

“I was,” he finally answers, “but Isabelle called us back. There is a meeting to be held in about twenty minutes. And I heard there was a beautiful woman with an axe in the training room, and your daughter confirmed my suspicion when she sent me to get the mysterious guest.” 

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he speaks and she can’t help but return it. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, to be here with him. Anywhere they both are, she forgets momentarily her worries. 

“And I was very happy to see you using your axe again. I remember you being the talk of the Academy when you picked it.” 

She chuckles, “I was remembering the same thing. Should I go, leave you all shadowhunters to your serious talks?” 

Her smile’s light, almost teasing, but he can see the underlying tension. Instead of answering, he grabs one of the wooden staff on the rack behind the table. 

“I have some time. Want a sparring partner?” 

She chuckles and nods, taking the staff he offers to her. If she were to take her axe, she would smash the woods into splinters with the first impact. It’s safer for them both, and allows them a longer training session. 

They both step towards the center of the room, their steps featherlight and their bodies energized with the perspective of an interesting fight. Maryse twirls the staff, adapting her stance for the lighter wooden weapon. It’s a known feeling under her palms, and she savors it. Her and Luke are still circling one another, eyes never straying from the other’s form, and soon one of them will be the first to break the tension building. 

It’ll be her, she decides, and with a swift motion, she moves forward and jabs one end of the staff at him. He blocks the blow and attacks right back, but the light in his eyes has turned from loving to competitive. She grins. 

They dance after that, the blows they exchange ringing with power and strength, the wood nearly brought to a breaking point times after times. It’s exhausting and exhilarating. She loves the way they both soar through the air, the way their movements cut through space quicker than lightning. There is something enchanting about their matched strength, something that makes her heart sings when she notices the proud smile Lucian sends her when she hits him in the side. 

When they stop, they are both slightly out of breath, and Maryse’s arms are sore from months spent without training. It’s a good soreness and she enjoys the feeling as she places the training staff back on the rack. 

“You haven’t lost any of your training,” Lucian remarks, his voice proud and amused. 

She laughs slightly as she walks back to her axe, hoisting it in her arms. “I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever forget.”

He nods, understanding, and he walks her to the weapons room. She puts the axe back in the space Isabelle made especially for it and looks at Lucian, who comes to put an arm around her shoulders. 

“What do you think I should name it?” 

Her question seems to surprise him, but he takes a few seconds to ponder on it. “It’s yours, Maryse. If you want to name it, it should be something that comes from deep within you.” 

She chuckles at that and jabs him in the sides. He’s evading her question, but she understands. It’s her weapon, it’s hers to name and shape. Even after all those years, it still is faithful to her. 

“What do you think of _Faithful_?” 

She tastes the name on her tongue as she says it. It’s a promise to herself, a promise to him and to her family; Maryse Trueblood will never again betray the faith and love she has for her family. But it’s also a reminder of what she has done, a warning; when she had been young she had placed her faith in the wrong people, had let them destroy everything she had ever wanted, and she had let the errors of her youth dictate most of her life. 

He looks at the axe and the smile on his lips is tender when he nods. “Perfect,” he says, and she knows he means it. 

They leave the weapons room, his arm keeping her close, and she smiles broadly as she sees Izzy walking up the stairs, getting ready for her meeting with her Institute. Jace is at the bottom of the stairs, his face somber but serious, and worry claws at her heart. She knows he’ll be fine, ultimately, but she wishes there was something she could do to soothe the pain from his forehead, to calm the nightmares he has at night. She looks back at Izzy and pride fills her again. She might have made many mistakes with her children, but they still found the strength to keep going and to forgive her. She is lucky, and she thanks all the deities that will listen for it.


End file.
